Fortitude
by Lazerwolf314
Summary: For•ti•tude: noun: courage in the face of pain or adversity. You have to face more than what you left behind. You have to face yourself.


_This is a story of life, pain, forgiveness, rediscovering love and one's self. Thank you very much to AMLightningGem for the prompt word, which evolved into so much more than a simple oneshot. This first chapter is definitely for you for the amazing word._

_Inspired in part by a dream I had about a dog and by the word Fortitude itself._

_Please enjoy and give it a chance. I think you might like._

_._

**For•ti•tude ~ noun ~ courage in pain or** **adversity**.

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The first time she drifts to consciousness (and stays there; she's been in and out like a fucking roller coaster), all she can see is an empty ceiling. But she senses that she is alone.

Her mind is foggy and body feels heavy, out of her control. It's disconcerting. It takes a moment or two for a few more synapses to engage; when they do, she realizes she has no idea where she is. Just as she begins to panic, sound begins to perforate the fuzz.

A machine beeps quietly next to her and she cranes her neck, searching for an identifiable feature to give her clue as to where she is. When she sees the heart rate monitor, her heart jumps and she watches in wonderment as the green line spikes.

Why was she in the hospital? She felt fine... scratch that. As soon as she shifts in the bed, a line of fire sears across her side and through her back. She gasps once, fighting to overcome the punch of shock that has left her lungs without air.

As she lays still and sucks oxygen like a fish, bits and pieces of her last memories come flashing back and in them, she recognizes that the takedown went wrong. While the details aren't clear, she does remember the image of several police storming the warehouse and the target, Blake, drawing a weapon. She can still see Nick's expression of fear as somebody swings her way, then he's on the ground with his hands behind his head and she's level with him and something is burning her. It all goes fuzzy after that.

She has to force herself away from the memories, they are making her jumpy and her body is responding with flashes of pain. Best to leave them for later.

Her throat is dry and it's nearly impossible to make a noise, but she tries. "Hello?" she calls weakly, but to no response.

Doing her best to comfort herself with the fact that hospital staff would have to check up on her eventually (and refusing to think she had just been left there; there had to be a reason she was alone), she settles for trying to reach what looks like a glass of water next to the bed. The railing, what normally appears like a meet nuisance to her in any other circumstance, seems like an impassible wall. She curses it viciously in her mind.

Careful to shift only her right arm, she slowly worms her hand closer to the prize and does her best to ignore the pain that has been reduced to a dull throb. Her gaze is focused solely on the glass of water; she ignores how weak she feels, how tired her muscles are and how she is breathing heavily after these simple movements.

She is so set on the glass, when her hand brushes against something other than the scratchy hospital sheets, she jerks her hand away on instinct. Not daring to lift her head, she tilts her gaze downwards until it settles on the adorable stuffed, black and white dog with floppy ears.

She knows instantly his name is Boo.

The sight of him, with deep brown eyes staring right back at her, is enough to bring tears streaming down her face and a smile is cracked for what feels like the first time in months.

For the first time in months, she feels closer to alright.

Closing her fingers around Boo's furry body, she pulls him to her chest. There she lays him, right above her heart and let's the exhaustion over come her and is able to fall into a state of almost easy sleep.

Andy can face everything else when she wakes again; now is time for her to breathe and comfort herself with a tiny stuffed dog in a way no person could ever do.

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_Please let me know what you think and if I should continue with this._


End file.
